THIRTY-SIX
The silver and black brush lining the shore rustled, the larger trees bending.
Lila got goose bumps in the warm water when a pack of creatures burst onto the beach.
Though she’d seen illustrations of hellhounds, their appearance still shocked her. Each one was as big as a car, with bloodred eyes, dripping fangs, and spikes lining its back.
There were five adults and two puppies, all with charcoal-gray fur. Blood and bits of gristle covered their maws.
She sensed Abyssian’s gaze slide to her, but she couldn’t hide her wonder. Sea serpents and hellhounds and a playdate in hell. She muttered, “Holy shit.”
“Did you read about these as well?”
“Yes, but the description didn’t do them justice. Are they tame like Loki?”
“Somewhat. The pack recognizes my horns. I’m the alpha, I suppose. Still, they might challenge me if I were injured or compromised in some way.”
The seven played in the sand, chasing and nipping one another. Their pounding paws shook the beach.
She was transfixed. “What do they eat?” Where’d the blood on their snouts come from?
“Reptiles and unwary demons. Last night, the pack could have happily varied their diet with you.”
There’s no outrunning hellhounds.
One puppy plopped over. Four legs in the air, it shimmied in the sand and chuffed at the others, as if saying, This. Is. The. Best. She knew the feeling.
Realization struck her: this might possibly be the best day of her life.
She was swimming naked with a demon in a foreign realm, yet she felt safe. Here she didn’t have to worry about humans with smartphone cameras or bounty hunters or homicidal archers. Instead she was greeted by one wonder after another.
She gazed up at Abyssian from under her lashes. Her rapidly developing interest in him surprised her, but it made sense. She’d been solitary for so long, exiled to the mortal realm as if to a deserted island. All she’d known was loneliness—until an intense, powerful, sexy king focused his attentions on her.
She found it thrilling. Plus she was newly immortal, her every emotion amplified.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked with a sigh.
“Abyssian . . .” She trailed off. This is moving fast. Don’t hurt me. Let go of the past. Dragging her attention from his face, she cleared her throat. “Is the pack not afraid of serpents?”
“The two species seem to have called a truce. Otherwise neither of them would really win, and both would lose.”
His words brought to mind Sylvan. Though the fey overlords had the upper hand—at present—their use of slavery was corroding them, degenerating them. In the end, they would lose, even if Abyssian didn’t invade with an army.
As quickly as the hellhounds had appeared, they vanished back into the brush, their fur camouflaging them.
Abyssian turned to her. “This can be an unforgiving world, Calliope. You have to respect the dangers. There are resin pits, quicksand traps, lava tides. I can go on all day.”
“What about the dragons? Would they attack?”
“If we were separated, they might. But you’re safe with me,” he said. “If you’d like to become acquainted with the largest and oldest dragon shifter in existence, he currently roosts in our throne room.”
“Uthyr.”
“I haven’t seen him in a day or two, but when he returns, I could set up a meeting.” In a casual tone, Abyssian said, “You will have to meet my allies one day.”
Didn’t mean she’d be happy about it. “How did you get to be a Møriør?” And can I make you stop being one? Preferably before she had to meet any of them.
His expression grew more animated. He liked simply thinking about his alliance, as if the mere idea of the Møriør was a talisman for him.
“My sire was a member, so I was a legacy of sorts. After your death, I needed something to occupy my mind, so I sought out Orion. I was drawn to his views on the universe and decided to join him. He helped me through those first years.” Abyssian added, “Now that we’re wed, I will be more forthcoming about my alliance.”
“Everyone talks about them as if they’re larger than life. What are they really like? As people?”
Her interest clearly pleased him. “Blace is the primordial vampire, an expert swordsman and filled with wisdom. Darach Lyka, the oldest werewolf, is inconceivably strong, even more so when his beast rises. Allixta, the Overlady of Witches, is bent on imposing taxes on mystical expenditures. Before she became a Møriør, she hexed me with a pain spell so excruciating, I was surprised I emerged from it with my sanity intact.” Yet he didn’t seem to have any lingering resentment. “Uthyr has the power of invisibility and can vary the fire he breathes, using it for everything from portals to shields to spurts of time travel.”
Time travel. Could anyone stand against them? Sylvan certainly couldn’t have.
“That wise old dragon has a dry sense of humor and loves television. Especially soap operas.” At her look, he said, “I swear it’s true.”
“And the archer?”
“Rune Darklight is a brother to me. Has been for millennia.”
Ugh. A bromance. “You said his mate was a halfling. What kind?”
“Josephine is part vampire and part phantom, one of the rarest and most powerful combinations. She possesses many abilities: tracing, telekinesis, levitation, incorporeality. She can even drink Rune’s black blood.”
Lila had never heard of such a thing. “Is she a Møriør now?” Did that alliance just become stronger?
“No. And I don’t know if she will be. She doesn’t have much interest in politics.” How nice that would be—to just bow out.
“What about your leader?” The one Nïx was particularly keen to hear about.
“Orion is an enthralling male. His appearance constantly changes—no one knows what he truly looks like.” How odd. “You were right—he can detect the weaknesses in everything—from a castle’s defense to the instability of a society’s foundation.” Like Sylvan’s. “He sleeps now, will wake once Tenebrous reaches Gaia.”
“What’s it like to travel in a moving dimension?”
“You would enjoy it very much. I’ll take you there in time. I want to see your face when you stare out at the black ether and watch worlds flash by.”
Though she would kill to see that, to learn firsthand about such a place, she didn’t foresee a visit in her future. “What about the others? I heard there were a dozen of you.”
“Only ten. We have two seats remaining at our war-room table. My other three allies are . . . not as easy to explain. I would rather you just meet them.”
“You said you would be a soft touch. Can I convince you to draw back from”—quit forever—“the Møriør?”
“They are my family. Just as they could never persuade me to relinquish my mate, you will never persuade me to relinquish my family. Mark my words, Calliope: I will always be a Møriør.” Moving in closer to her, he said, “Tell me why you hate my alliance so deeply.”
I can’t! Not until she trusted Abyssian more. She would have to trust him with her life.
A shadow passed over them. She craned her head up. Five dragons soared above! They were much smaller than Uthyr and had black scales. To her delight, one shot a stream of fire, then flew into the flames. “Why did he do that?”
“Warming up for the night’s hunt. This is my favorite time of the day. The dragons set out from their roosts. Creatures rouse in the wilds. Soon the hounds will howl.”
“You must’ve missed this place when you were in the Elserealms.” The dragons continued on, one of them trailing a wing tip across the water’s surface. “Will you have to return there?”
“If I do, you’ll be coming with me.” With an inscrutable expression, he said, “We will never live apart.”
“Never?” That was a word immortals didn’t throw around lightly.
“Ever. As I said, a demon doesn’t like to be away from his mate.”
Sian was reminded of that last dance with Kari when he’d told her, You will be mine, Kari. For all time. I will never be separated from you.
But he had been. “Do you have a problem with a male keeping his wife by his side?”
Picking up on his change in demeanor, she glared. “Depends on if the male is a surly demon who gives his wife whiplash with his moods. Such a wife would wonder if such a husband recalled that they were skinny-dipping on a gorgeous day.”
Fair point. Just enjoy this, Sian. . . .
A couple of dragon stragglers glided overhead. With her attention distracted, Sian decided on a prank to reclaim her good mood. He reached a wing around under the water and skimmed her calf.
Eyes darting, she eased closer. “What was that?”
Keeping his expression blank, he said, “What was what?”
“I felt something against my leg.”
“Hmm. Could be a school of hatchlings.”
“A school? Of baby serpents?”
“They’re even more poisonous than the larger ones. Good thing you’re immortal now.” Unable to resist, he moved his wing again—
She screeched and leapt for him. Climbing him like a tree, she wrapped her arms around his head just below his horns. Her breasts pressed against his face, her legs locked around him. “T-trace us to the shore, Abyssian!”
He coiled his arms around her and turned his head, which put one of her nipples just out of his tongue’s reach. So close, yet so far. The prank’s on me. In a muffled voice, he said, “Or it could be your husband’s wing touching you underwater.”
“Oh, you dick!” she cried, releasing her grip on him. “You will pay for that one. Now put me down.”
“Of course.” He let her slowly inch down his body, her nipples raking his chest.
She sucked in a breath.
Already he could scent how aroused she was. His shaft throbbed for that honey. But he had to behave—somewhat—until she invited him to claim her. And right now, Sian felt a hot, aching hope that an invitation would be forthcoming soon.
Halfway down his body, she gasped, parting her glossy lips.
He was helpless to resist them. He cupped her ass, holding her aloft, then leaned down. She must know he was about to take her mouth, to kiss her tongue with his pointed one.
Her lids went heavy, and she raised her face.
She wants my kiss! Sian hesitated, savoring that he was about to take her lips.
After lifetimes of waiting, he’d wondered if his mind had exaggerated how intense their one kiss had been.
He eased toward her mouth . . . an inch closer. He could feel her exhalations. Closer . . . Their lips met.
When his tongue touched hers, pinpoints of light exploded behind his lids. Heat and need erupted inside him. His mind had not exaggerated.
Kissing my mate. Lightning and balance. The rightness.
She moaned against his lips, wrapping her legs around his waist. Lusty female!
He squeezed her closer, kissing with all his longing, his ages-old yearning. If his first taste of his mate’s lips had ruined him, this resurrected him.
Was she just as affected? He needed to see her ethereal face, to behold her reaction and commit it to memory. He drew back.
“Abyssian?” Her teal eyes were hooded and locked on his lips as she licked her own.
Between breaths, he said, “That was—”
“More, demon.” She tugged on his hair to yank him back.
And all of a sudden, Abyssian Infernas comprehended the meaning of joy. . . .